Invictus
by Valkyroir
Summary: "I am the wolf, but I like to wear sheep's clothing. I am a demon, some say my greatest weakness. I call it my defense." Original Characters. M/A(after a fashion) Chapter 2 touched up. Three and four fixed, I hope.


Author's Note: As some may know, I have been working on and off on 'Invictus' for over a year now. The reason why there's been more off than on is more due to the fact that I've backed myself into a corner than by absurdly busy schedule. In addition to that, I've discovered errors in my characterizations and wholes in my story line I will not abide. So I've started 'Invictus' over. The first chapter will remain mostly the same as it has been, but all subsequent chapters will be alters, as will much of the story. With any luck at all, and, I like to think, with a modicum of skill, those of you who have read 'Invictus' will be treated to a much improved version, and those of you who have not will read what I hope will become one of my better tales. Enjoy. Please R&R  
AS-642 was highly amused.  
  
She knew she probably shouldn't be. After all this was not the funniest of all situations she had ever been in. Terminal City was without a doubt the foulest shit hole of all foul shit holes she had ever had the privilege of residing in, and she didn't have many positive comments to waste on the company she found herself keeping these days. Outside there were scores of weakling little humans hunkered behind open car doors with inferior eyes fixed on the outer walls of these very buildings and inferior weapons poised to fire on the any one of the City's denizens they managed to catch sight of, shakily awaiting battle while their numbers swelled past the hundreds. Concerned citizens marched and howled and roiled behind wobbly police barricades, toting their placards and pistols, boiling with bloodlust and righteous anger. All around the city of Seattle wooden Xs burned, and 642 wondered if that wood wouldn't be better served sheltering the head of some homeless child, or warming the hearth of a family that couldn't afford electricity or gas. No. Hatred was worth more than life in this town. It was the same in every other place 642 had ever been.  
  
And still, she was amused. She gazed out the grimy windows at those piddling, feeble devils out there and wondered if they actually thought they would stand a chance if the cops granted their wish and let them crash those few fences that had been left standing. She wondered if they actually believed that there was some higher power that would protect their virtuous cause if they were allowed to charge in here intent on murder. Morons.  
  
Content to watch the drama unfold, 642 lounged with her pack atop a pile of discarded crates in a shadowed, secluded corner by the door. She was a truly magnificent creature. Hers was a fluid, lethal grace, her manner easy and assured, expression crisp, subtle and playfully, teasingly droll. With eyes the deep, gold-laced green of a summer forest canopy at dawn, she had the fine features, lithe form, and wiry muscular build of all the females of Manticore design. Fey's skin was a sun-bronzed, ruddy hue, as much the result of her roving lifestyle as her exotic genetic makeup. Letting her keen emeralds roam listlessly across the anxious, motley faces shifting and conspiring obliviously about her, Fey raked her slender fingers through her raven-wing hair, about a hand span longer than shoulder-length, and smiled softly to herself.  
  
The Fey and her unit were newcomers to this stink hole of folly and futility. The fact that they hadn't been questioned immediately upon arrival was testament to the rough shape the other transgenics were in; had the Manticore escapees been at the top of their game they would have caught the scent of the Alphas at once and detained them without hesitation. Fey and her lot had always fought with Manticore's active troops, when they were called upon to fight at all, but it was no small secret that they were feared by all who knew of them. There had been no way to make themselves known to their fellows without seriously compromising their safety here, and so Fey had given orders that her pack do their best to assimilate and go unnoticed. At this point it was fairly certain that if the transgenic hierarchy was given any reason to believe that a pack of wolves prowled in their midst unannounced, assumptions would be made, and a blood bath would follow that the Fey was not altogether anxious to see. Not that she thought any of her blood would be in the mix, but unnecessary loss of life had never been something she was eager to witness, let alone cause or perpetuate.  
  
The morning waned, and noon came without incident. People walked, talked, sat, stood, milled about with the same level of nonexistent enthusiasm throughout most of the day here. From time to time a guard would catch sight of something suspicious, or the movement outside would be enough to heighten tension inside for a short while, but by and large there was never any dramatic alteration in circumstance in Terminal City. The siege went on, and while many an interesting theory concerning how to break it was passed from ear to ear, it was a rare thing that any of the theorists should make any move to put the various plots into action. And so Fey sat with her unit and watched and smiled and wondered what the hell these poor buggers were thinking. They were supposedly the Manticore elite, good enough that their makers had discarded Fey and her kind in favor of the Xs and theirs. And yet for all their much-acclaimed superiority they did nothing, and Fey found herself utterly befuddled. It was not a state she was accustomed to.  
  
Grunting softly, Fey raked her fingers through her hair again and rolled to her feet. The hours of boredom and random musing had wearied her brain. Evax, who had been deeply involved in whittling a knight for the chess board he and Eril were working on, glanced up questioningly, cocking his head a bit to the side. Her movement must have been as much a thing of confusion for her twin as her own thoughts were for her. They had, after all, come to a mutual decision to not move about too frequently though the ranks of the transgenics here, lest their scent be recognized. But Fey could not sit idle here a moment longer. It was not in her blood.  
  
"It's alright brother. I'll not be gone long."  
  
"Better not to be gone at all I think. Least wise not alone."  
  
"If all we're to do is sit here every day with an eye on the passing parade than we might well be on our way. But there's good use to be made of this place I think."  
  
"I can agree with that first bit at least," Audax rumbled. Fey indicated the young Alpha was a broad, sweeping gesture and arched a brow at her brother.  
  
"Nay, not here. And not alone."  
  
"Surely not! The boys can come with me."  
  
Fey's two boys, Gareth and Azael, had been shooting marbles, or rather pebbles, a few feet away when their mother's statement brought them to full and startled attention. After a moment's confusion their expressions lightened, broadened with eager anticipation. It was not often they were allowed away from the protection of the pack, and both had been nagging their mother for days to show them something of this new home.  
  
But Evax was adamant, even in their fact of his nephews' obvious excitement. "Best not Fey. No unnecessary risk."  
  
"Even being here's an unnecessary risk," Tristis put in. "If you're going to go, go all the way I say."  
  
"Aye why not. If you're a damned fool."  
  
"Shut it all of you!" Lot snapped. Something in his tone brought all eyes to him, just as something in his face killed any other words on the lips. "Look there."  
  
Lot nodded towards a group of transgenics, mostly X series, that had gathered in this building to take part in the betting that had become a favorite pastime here. The males in the group had become noticeably restless, the females noticeably snappish. In fact the transformation was so sudden and total that certain members of the group were shoving each other, even growling. The Alphas exchanged looks, expressions which morphed from confused to half-knowing when the source was recognized. A female, X-5 in age and appearance, had sauntered into the room with was casting suggestive, heat-glazed eyes at anything in her sphere with a penis. Like rutting tomcats the X-5 males had taken notice of her, as had the more territorial females.  
  
"Better get in on that boys, before people start asking questions." Fey was only half joking. The only males in the building that did not appear to be affected were the transhumans and, of course, hers. If they wanted their roomies here to take them for X-5s, which they did, then the Alpha men were going to have to rev up their libidos and get in on the action.  
  
"Oh hell," Audax huffed.  
  
"Better get the rest back to the room Fey," Evax said, standing and shrugging off his jacket. "This might get violent." Fey arched a brow at her grinning brother, catching the jacket he flung her way.  
  
"No doubt." 


End file.
